by E L Russell
20
Patmos
The Unexpected
Finna slept about as well that night as she had the night before competing in the squire’s tournament. Not well. Her conversation with a faceless voice that became a monk who then told her she was Awakening was as puzzling as the ways of the starry heavens. God’s bones. Home sounded very good.
A tap on her shoulder startled her and alerted her to Brother Michael’s presence. With a surprisingly strong arm, he helped her stand and she remembered the warning from the voice. “Brother Michael must not sail with you to Crete.”
She looked at the image in her head trying to remember if his face really matched that of the monk in Germany or if he somehow tricked her into believing it.
She didn’t wish to talk about the mind thing.
She folded her arms.
She bit her upper lip.
* * *
Brother Michael called from the far side of the small riverboat. “St. Simeon is around the next bend. Time to collect our gear.”
Finna slung both water bags and her personal gear over her shoulders while surreptitiously studying him. What was it about the gentle man that posed a threat? She didn’t like the idea of leaving him sleeping in God knew where.
She grabbed her gear and stomped down the short plank to the dock. All she got was sarding questions. No answers. Brother Michael waved and beckoned her to follow him downstream toward larger ships. He was the only monk in sight, but while he negotiated a passage to Crete and Finna guarded the bags, she searched the crowd for any sign of a monk who looked like her savior in Germany, the one who’d fixed her head, the one who’d given her the powder to knock out the marauders. She wished she could remember the face of the monk in her home village, the one at the side of the road. No matter how hard she concentrated, his face remained a fuzzy blur.
After a poor night of rest and sated with a fresh loaf of bread and a cup of wine, she was half asleep and she saw monks everywhere, or almost everywhere. When a smiling Brother Michael appeared in front of her, she blinked to clear her vision. No other monks were anywhere to be seen.
“Come, we must hurry. I found a boat going to Crete to pick up pilgrims. It is a good price, too.”
Gathering her bags to follow Brother Michael, Finna scanned the crowd one last time. “You seem inordinately pleased with yourself, Brother Michael. Is it an exceptional ship?”
“No, it’s pretty ordinary.”
Caught up in his enthusiasm, she laughed with good humor. “Then what makes you smile like a child just given a sweet?”
“Before going on to Crete, we will make a stop to take on a few more pilgrims.”
“Where?”
“Patmos.”
* * *
Patmos was a small island in the Aegean Sea. The fact that it was the place where St. John the Apostle wrote the Book of Revelations, immediately explained the euphoric happiness hovering around Brother Michael. He was only too happy to point out to Finna that it had long been a place of pilgrimage.
“Bring your bags and join me at the entrance to the Grotto of St. John.” He shouted directions while jostling with other passengers in a most undignified way to be the first one off the boat.
Finna chuckled at his impropriety and joined the line to disembark before following him and the other pilgrims up the narrow street. The light seemed different to her. It was more intense, the colors were more vibrant. Sound was muffled except for low prayers and chanting. Then vendors broke the mood and hawked their wears like shrill birds in great contrast to the silence found close to the grotto’s entrance.
Finna looked around at the pilgrims intent only on getting into the holy place.
She called to Brother Michael. “I’ll wait for you here by the food vendors. Spend as much time in the grotto as you like.”
He was so excited to be so close to godliness, he barely acknowledged her. “I will pray for you inside.” And he disappeared within.
“Go with God,” she said.
Finna reached into her pocket and wrapped her fingers around the small red jar.
God’s Bones. She really didn’t want to do this.
She wished the owner of voice was in front of her so she could glare at him.
Reluctantly, she placed a pinch of the red powder in his mug and with her other hand, pretended to do the same in hers in case someone was watching.
She shrugged.
She scoffed.
<
Ah.>
With her eyes fixed to the spot, she wondered what he hinted at. Passing pilgrims often blocked her line of vision so Finna stood to maintain her line of vision. Her eyes bulged when, out of nowhere, the monk, who had given her the red jar in Germany, appeared.
Ridiculous. It could not be him. It looked like him. She craned her neck while he waited for a gap in the crowd before walking toward her. He was tall like the man who had helped her and he wore a similar robe.
He took her hands. They were warm and strong.
21
Leeth
Almost Revealed
For the life of her, Finna could find no words. She simply stared. The voice had a name. Leeth.
He slid the hood from his head and the direct Aegean sun revealed a ruggedly handsome face she had not seen in the dark cave. The features were not quite regular for classical beauty and sharp angles and piercing dark eyes fixed on her with amusement. He wore a close black beard peppered with silver and the lines at the corners of his eyes said he often laughed.
“How did you—” The words hung in the air.
“I imagined it.”
“It?”
“Being here.”
She held out her palms up and thought of her father and home. “That . . . doesn’t work.”
He smiled at her with dazzling white teeth. “It’s a skill. Remember?”
She frowned at his smile. He was too clever by far and way too confident of his charm. In spite of his help in Germany, she wasn’t sure she trusted him.
He grinned.
She almost stepped away from him.
She tapped his chest with a finger in rhythm with her words.
Finna darted a finger out to poke him on his arm.
He pointed down the crowded path towards the boats.
* * *
With much reluctance, Finna turned and left him. Near the bottom of the hill, close to the docks, the road opened to a broad courtyard market and the smell of fresh bread drew her. She followed her nose to a busy vendor selling thick slices of bread held together by soft salty cheese. She sunk her teeth into the mouthwatering fare, but felt it was a poor substitute to learning more about Leeth.
He’d told her nothing about himself, like who was he and where did he come from. Why did he keep speaking to her mind? Protection? What was the man talking about? She snorted and gazed back up the hill in hopes of hearing him. Instead, a different voice entered her head.
“Mother, Look, it’s Finna.”
She turned at her name to see Jamal and Yasmin. The women opened their arms and hugged her with in surprise and with great warmth.
“I never thought to see you again,” Yasmin said. “Did you return to the queen?”
Finna nodded, remembering the queen had promised to send men to hunt Jamal and Yasmin. “I told her you escaped toward the south. That should put off anyone who goes in pursuit.” She grinned at her friend. “I’m glad you changed you mind about killing me on sight if we ever met again.”
The woman’s mysterious dark eyes crinkled in an open smile. It was an empty threat in a moment of terror. “I am most pleased to see you.”
“And I you.” Finna turned to Jamal. “I think you have grown in the short time since I saw you last.”
His mother lovingly boxed his ears. “Probably. He certainly eats enough.”
Finna pulled him to her for a hug. “I know you are too big for hugs, but humor me. I am happy to see you.”
Jamal couldn’t hold back his own smile and hugged her in return.
Finna knew that coincidences happened, but one the size of this was beyond mere chance.
“Humph. I promise.”
Yasmin’s head snapped back. “Promise what, Finna?”
“Nothing, just a short prayer that we remain together and the Queen’s men don’t find us.”
She made a heartfelt appeal to Leeth.
“Why are you here, Yasmin? Do you have passage?”
The beautiful woman glanced about and whispered, “Praise Allah for bringing you to us. This is a holy place. Is that why you are here?”
“Not exactly. The boat I’m on stopped here. I’m going to Crete with pilgrims.”
Jamal jumped. “So are we. But this is wonderful.”
“In a very strange way, it all makes sense. Do you have plans in Heraklion or are you going beyond there?”
“A monk promised us a job working at the Monastery of Agkarathou,” Yasmin said. “It is southeast of Heraklion, near the village of Sampas, which is about a day’s walk. He said he would send a monk to meet us on the docks, here, and give us safe passage.”
“What will you do there?”
“I will cook and Jamal will help tend the animals.”
“Then you are settled, at least for a while.”
Jamal interrupted. “Mother, there. A monk.”
Finna’s heart skipped beat.
No response.
Jamal ran ahead, pulling Yasmin’s hand.
Finna trailed behind, giving them a chance to speak with their monk, but in hearing Yasmin and the monk in a heated discussion, she quickened her step.
“Brother Gregory said there was a position. Why would he lie to us?” Yasmin asked the robed man.
The monk replied with waving his arms. “There is no Brother Gregory at the monastery. And our cloister is for men only. That rule has always applied to servants. I am truly sorry. Someone has misled you.”
Finna heaved a sigh of relief when the monk walked away and he was not Leeth. But now Yasmin needed help and all she had to offer was a dubious partnership in the possible retrieval of a treasure . . . if they weren’t killed and if the queen did not renege on her part of the bargain.
With only an inkling of what she would face, she wanted to be scrupulously honest with the dangers, yet the temptation to candy-coat the pitfalls was huge. To have the companionship of Yasmin and her strong fighting arm were an enticement beyond resistance.
Having heard the offer, Jamal came to her rescue. He saw it a huge adventure and became her instant ally. “Mother. Yes. A treasure. We will join Finna, will we not?”
To Finna’s surprise and delight, his mother laughed. “The three of us. We are a good team. Yes, we will join you.” A hint of reality and worry flashed across her face and disappeared. “After all we have not had a better offer.”
Finna welcomed Yasmin’s joke as a sign all would be good. On the surface, they were a woman and a young boy, but she had seen them fi
ght. They were both warriors.
22
Heraklion
Sabas
The trio arrived at Heraklion after a blessedly, uneventful passage and walked the five miles to the Flying Fish Market where the Queen’s man, Sabas, was within. Finna eyed him warily. If he ever bathed, it had not been recently, and a miasma of garlic wafted in the air around him. His paunchy body was mostly hidden under his dirty robe and his beady black eyes assessed her for possible gain. Beyond the garlic, he reeked of dishonesty and Finna wanted to run. She cast her gaze on Yasmin and Jamal who stood steadfastly nearby with their noses all but scrunched up.
After reading the letters of introduction from the Queen, the merchant took the three to a small back room to speak to them in private. The odor of the man in the close quarters threatened Finna’s ability to breathe and she worried she might faint for the first time in her life. When Yasmin stomped on her foot, she righted herself with a “thanks” out the side of her mouth and took cautious shallow breaths.
“Her Majesty’s information is outdated,” the oily smelly man said. “The booty is not in southern Crete, but just east of Heraklion on the north side of the island. The thieves moved it to a cave and you will have to find which one. There are hundreds by the sea.”
“Of caves?” So the booty was closer. That was good news, providing it was true. She didn’t like the malicious glimmer in the merchant’s eyes and wondered if he was in league with the thieves. Although her monarch vouched for him, his little black eyes never made direct contact with her and his smelly smile was anything but sincere. Never mind that his odor could fell a horse. Assessing the man’s honesty was a challenge.
“Do you have any clues as to the location of the specific cave?” She wanted to add, that you can share, but thought sarcasm was better avoided.
For an uncomfortable moment, he didn’t say anything and in alarm, she saw Jamal grow impatient. Yasmin laid a hand on his arm and he stilled as a fly settled on the fat man’s arm and he swatted it.